


Carver's Senses

by dragonsshades



Series: DragonsShades Dragon Age Shorts [4]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gender-Neutral Hawke, One Shot, Senses, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-02 01:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17878163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonsshades/pseuds/dragonsshades
Summary: Carver found that he never wanted to be anywhere else except beside Merrill. He wanted to spend his life with her, in moments like these...





	Carver's Senses

**Author's Note:**

> I never see the Carver/Merrill fics that I want to, so I decided to write one instead.

**Sound**.

To Carver, Merrill's voice was his favorite sound. He loved the soft tones she spoke in. He adored her sweet giggles when Hawke made an awful joke. His heart fluttered quicker than normal when she spoke his own name aloud.

He loved listening to her speak, whether it was about the Dalish or about how Varric was teaching her how to play a mean game of Wicked Grace. When she had a question or stated a fact, she sometimes spoke with her hands. Carver found it all too endearing.

Sometimes, he joins Hawke when his sibling visits Merrill at her house. While they speak, he admires the knickknacks Merrill has collected and how she has settled into her new home rather well.

Sometimes, Merrill and Hawke will go over the books of Magic that Merrill has laying around. Merrill likes to read out loud, and Carver thanks the Maker for it. Her voice is syrupy, like honey dripping on Carvers skin. He finds that his cheeks heat up into a brilliant red and his skin is always a little hotter than normal.

 **Sight**.

To Carver, seeing Merrill is like drinking a barrel of water after being dehydrated for so long. His day is always a little brighter and his heart a little lighter whenever he sees her.

Sure, Anders is a good mage. Relatively speaking. But Carver is happiest when Hawke brings Merrill along on their adventures instead. He might be a little selfish for saying so, but he doesn't regret it.

Merrill is an excellent mage. Seeing her in battle makes Carver's heart stop. She is incredible. Her arms are thin, but they hold the muscle to twirl her staff around, and even slice down her enemies with the sharpened end. She is astonishing. He can see and feel the magic emanating from her during battle. Her magic is as green as her eyes, making his hair stand on edge whenever he gets too close.

He finds that he loves seeing Merrill. He loves seeing her happy and at peace with her life.

 **Smell**.

Merrill's scent - by the Maker! Her scent! Carver finds it easy to know where Merrill is at all times because of her scent. He could smell it a mile away.

Her scent is sweet, and oddly, like the nickname Varric gave her, smells like daisies. She has an earthy hint to her, like all her time spent traveling in the dirt and mud has stuck to her.

More often than not, she is carrying elf root leaves, crushed up. The spicy hint of the leaves is more than enough to give her away. It was difficult for her to sneak up on him because of this.

Carver can still remember that awfully embarrassing time at the Hanged Man. Their lovely little group of rogues, warriors, and apostates sat around a table, drinking after a long day. Merrill sat next to him, as sweet as ever. That time though, she had a new scent sticking to her skin, a quite familiar smell. He had leant toward her to deeply inhale that particular scent - he couldn't quite place his thumb on it though.

Isabela had noticed and called him out, turning all eyes (including Merrill's large emerald ones) on him. That night, he left with his face burning and his mind singing.

He finds that he only remembered where the scent had come from later on - when the Hero of Ferelden passed through Lothering, she wore the same scent.

 **Taste**.

Merrill's taste was exquisite. Carver couldn't remember how they had managed to get together, or even how they got to Merrill's house in the first place. Perhaps he had one too many at the Hanged Man, or perhaps he was drunk off the taste of Merrill.

By the Maker!

He wondered if Merrill was Andraste herself, as his tongue laved over her sweet and sharp collarbones.

Her skin tasted like she smelled. Sweet and honey-like. He groaned in the back of his throat, the noise vibrating against her skin.

Her lips tasted even sweeter than the rest of her skin. Her mouth was heavenly, her tentative tongue twining with his own.

He finds that he loves her taste. By the Maker, how he loves her taste. He had no doubt that Merrill was the Holy Divine he had been searching for.

 **Feel**.

Carver's fingers on her skin was their favorite thing. He loved stroking her bare skin, tracing the markings made by her clan. She loved when he would twirl his fingers in her hair, sending the best kind of shivers down her spine.

At the end of it all...

Carver found that he never wanted to be anywhere else except beside Merrill. He wanted to spend his life with her, in moments like these, where he could hear her beautiful voice, where he could see her brilliant grin, where he could smell her honey sweet scent, where he could taste the flowers and salt on her skin, and where he could touch her beautiful face, gently, as if she were made of the finest glass.

Carver found...that he loved Merrill. He loved her with his whole heart and more.


End file.
